DIARY OF A FRUSTRATED GRADUATE 3

SCAMMED (A)

It’s been more than three months since the Prado Guy incident.
I had moved out from my babe’s apartment into Biggie’s apartment. He has always been my bro since day 1. Sarah and I were still dating but the steam
wasn’t there. We chatted once in a while but it was quite obvious that the
whole thing was headed for the rocks. She claimed she cheated on me to help me
get a job, that it was a sacrifice she was constrained to make.

Well, I
listened to her but I wasn’t eating any of that ‘sacrifice ‘ bullshit. If she
cheated to get me off my jobless situation, she might one day cheat with the
landlord to foot the rent, or with the NEPA man to foot the bills. One can
never tell. These ladies ain’t loyal.

I have always known that relationships
involving fair and pretty ladies never lasted. If you doubt me check out the
news about Tonto Dike and Oladunni Churchill, or Tonto Dike and Malivelihood,
and Dbanj, and Wizkid etc. If you still need more proof also check out Toke
Makinwa and Maje Ayida or Meek Mill and Nicki Minaj or Charly Boy and Bobrisky (in this one, it is your guess who the lady is).
Are you convinced now?

Tonto Dike and Churchil

Toke and Maje

Meek Mill and Nicki

Things were changing for the better the Nigerian way. In
Nigeria, if you crossed from PDP to APC, that’s change: change in alphabets.
The economy will remain the same or worsen. Biggie told me there was an opening at his
workplace. He worked at a decrepit restaurant and chalet by the road side that
was the lair of hoes and yahoo boys. I applied and got the job. I was to work
as the doorman and the pay was #20,000 per month. I accepted the terms and
conditions and started work at once.

I hadn’t worked for more than three days
than I began to ask myself if it weren’t better to go back to the village and
rear hens than stand for 12 hours a day sliding doors back and forth. The job
was horrible. At the close of work my leg would feel as if the joints had
knocked. I always walked home like a bicycle with a broken spindle. Then
another problem was the monotony of the job. I mean, even if you were paid a
six-figure salary, you’d definitely get bored standing 12 hours a day closing
doors and opening them and saying “welcome”
and “bye, have a nice day.” I had to speak to the boss about those
issues.

So that Tuesday evening, everyone was in bad mood except the
boss. We had a good number of customers that day. That meant more cooking for
the chef, more serving by the waiters and waitresses, more door sliding for me
but more money for the boss. So he was in good spirits as I walked into his
office.

“Yes! Yes! What are you doing here? You should be at door.” He
blared like a goat.

“Erm, good day sir. We haff almos finish for tonight. So I say
that I should come and see you.” I was very tired.

“See me? For what? Is it the end of the month? Young man get
back to work before I roll you up in dough and bake you!"

“It’s not like that sir, my meat dry, well well. Customers
won’t be able to chew it!”

“Go straight to the point! What do you want? He was an
impatient man.

“The door, sir. Standing there all the time. Is boring too
much. I swear, is very boring.”

“That is why you were employed, to handle that very boring
job.” He made a face like a Snapchat donkey. “There is nothing I can do about
it. Besides, every one stands in here. From the cleaners to the waiters, to the
chefs to me, the boss!”

“Ah oga, my own standing is different. I want another type of
standing.”

“You are wasting my time. What kind of standing do you want?

“Erm, Sir, I don’t mean to insult you sir. But since you
asked, I don’t mind standing as the boss, if you don’t mind.”

My boss made a face like he just sat his naked ynash on a pin.
Then with as much strength as he could summon into his large mouth, he blared.
“Get out!”

“I am sorry sir. Shebi I said if you don’t mind. I didn’t know
that you would mind, but if I can’t stand as the boss, can I stand as the
accountant, I promise I won’t ‘loss’ your money”

“Get out before I push you out.” He howled like a crossbreed of dangerous dogs.

He then stood up like a hangman
and walked towards me. Brother, Usain Bolt no reach me for run. I tore out of
the room like the EFCC was after me.

Bolt struggling to catch up

So that was how my plan failed and I kept on standing and
sliding doors and helloing and goodaying customers both on good days and bad
days.

Then something happened that would in the long run land me inside
kirikiri. But the kirikiri part is a story for another day. You see, I needed money badly. I was living with
Biggie. Biggie would never let you have a coin off him. He could drown you with
alcohol till you threw your intestines out, but on all other matters involving money,
he would make you split the bill in two.

So I was footing half the NEPA bill,
house rent, food bill, fuel bill, and air freshner bill; the one we used when
his girlfriend came over. I was broke like the economy, man. So I began to get
creative. I soon figured out how I would make extra income. CHARITY! That was
my mamma’s name by the way.

Your guess is as wrong as whatever comes out of the mouth of
Lie Muhammed (Please, pardon the
spelling of the first name, I kept spelling it correctly but my phone kept
autocorrecting it, so I left it like that. My phone knows better) If you thought
I was going to give to charity.

Don’t get me wrong. I totally support giving to
charity but… but when your case don worse pass Charity own- you begin to wonder
what the difference was; why people don’t give to you too. So at my place of
work, in the third week since I started working there, a plan flashed through
my mind like power supply at Oworonshoki. I thought about the plan. I turned it
over this way and that way until it occurred to me that if I didn’t put it into
action I’d go totally gaga.

Last week had been
particularly dull for business. Customers walked-in in ones after three or four
hour interval. As usual the boss jumped off his skin like boiled periwinkle
when he saw the accounts. To cut the short story shorter, he said we were at
fault and must recommend ways to move the business forward. Babe, if you see as
people start to they google the internet for ideas, you go shock.

The evil hour soon came and the boss called for the meeting.
We all assembled in his office and stood like primary school children that
bought akara with their school fees. I’ve done it before so I know what I am
talking about. It wasn’t funny I say.

The boss adjusted uneasily in his chair like he sat on his
scrotum and looked up at us.

“Who among you has been pulling my business down?”

The office was quiet. It was like Ibrahim Magu,
EFCC chairman, telling the senate “If you can swear you are not corrupt say
Aye!” Who wan talk, make thunder from Sango and Amadioha shrine join forces knack
him left ynash.

“We have to get to the bottom of the matter, and the earlier
someone starts saying something the better for all of you.”

We couldn’t say a word, though we knew one another’s secrets.
For instance the master Chef was always packing food home. I couldn’t blame him
though, when a man has eight kids at home plus a wife the size of Eniola
Badmus, you’d learn to sympathize with him for no reason.

Eniola Badmus

The other day I
caught him red handed. It was just eight o’clock and the boss had gone home for
the night. Customers wanting to grab a quick supper were all stranded in the
restaurant. When I rushed in to find out what the problem was, I was told the
whole food was finished. I went into the
kitchen to see what the chef was doing about it, but alas alas, there he was
pushing all the food inside a black polythene bag.

“Psalm." he called me "My family never chop.” he said. “I do all this cooking
and I don’t have food at home? Not possible. My wife… you know how she is.” He
said mournfully. “I mean, where a baboon works, a baboon should also eat.”

“You mean your wife?” I asked finding it difficult to
understand how a baboon got to into the conversation.

“My wife?” he asked. Then he seemed to understand. “Well,
judging by her weight and her hairy backside, you may have a point.”

Eww, I had never seen her hairy backside. In fact, I would
rather buy popcorn and beer (since coke and Fanta don cast) and watch Denrele
and Bobrisky make out than see that woman’s hairy backside… eww.

Caption this

“Take heart, Chef. God will give you the fortitude to bear the
load.”

Well, that was just one long instance to prove to you we
weren’t all saints like President Buhari’s cabinet members.

The other day, a
wealthy man had come to the restaurant for lunch with a girl that dumped me
three years ago. I told him point blank that no dish was ready (though it was
past midday), that if his girlfriend couldn’t cook for him at home he should go
and look for another one.

‘That’s correct.” The wealthy man said. “Sandra come home and
cook for me.”

They turned back and drove away. Sandra was a bad cook. Years
ago, she added water to some eggs she was frying for breakfast, explaining that
it was too thick. I guess she is single again.

Back to the meeting, my boss was now pacing round the tiny
office.

“Since you have no answer to my question, do you at least have
a suggestion on how we can move the business forward?”

It was Biggie, my friend, that opened the floor.

“I think, you know, we all feel business isn’t going well
because, you know, we are comparing this week’s sale with that of last week. I
mean, you know, last week was the week of valentine and sales were high for
obvious reasons. You know”

“We don’t know!?”The Boss fired like a pregnant woman whose
water just broke. “Why were sales high during valentine, did Chef’s culinary skill
get better or did Funke’s makeup get more attractive?

“Not really, during valentine, the rooms were cheaper because
of the promo. And we had crowd of people wanting to lodge, and you know, do it…
and they had to eat too. I mean, aside the girl, Stephanie, in room 4, who else does it on an empty
stomach?” Biggie asked.

“I …” Boss started. We looked up at him in unison. He realized
the awkwardness of what he just said.

“I don’t mean I as in I do it on an empty stomach, I mean I …”
he looked at Biggie like a LASTMA official would look at a danfo driver picking
a passenger on the express. “Next time you end a sentence like that, you are
fired, what rubbish!”

“I am sorry sir.” Biggie said, unsure what he had done wrong.

“Biggie made a point, but stating what the problem is isn’t
the same as solving it. If it were, Psalm’s mouth odour would be a thing of the
past.” He took me by surprise, in fact I was so confused I had to quickly run
my wet tongue across my palm and smell the residue. I won’t say it smelled as
good as Passion perfume, but I can beat my chest and say my mouth has an edge
over rotten egg.

“So I need solutions.” The boss said, his bulging eyes resting
on me. For a second I thought we had been too harsh on Segun Arinze, it was
because of my boss Oxford added “eyesore” to the dictionary, Segun had nothing
to do with it.

“I have a solution.” I said, looking him eyeball to
‘eyeballs’.

“Solution for the mouth odour?” He asked.

“No, a solution that would move the business forward.”

Why should
I suffer myself to solve my mouth odour problem, I mean when a man has mouth
odour, who dey suffer am pass, no be the
people wey surround the man? They should find the solution.